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Deborah J. Brasket

~ Living on the Edge of the Wild

Deborah J. Brasket

Tag Archives: lifestyle

A Slice of San Francisco

12 Thursday Apr 2018

Posted by deborahbrasket in Culture, Photography

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

lifestyle, personal, photography, San Francisco, travel

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Last weekend I accompanied my friend Paula on a trip to San Francisco. We stayed in a lovely old building owned by the Native Daughters of the Golden West and designed by Julia Morgan, a five-floor townhouse in the heart of the city.

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Third floor parlour . . .

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. . . and atrium.

While she attended meetings, I took my camera to explore the nearby neighborhood, full of lovely Victorian homes.

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This little fellow caught me by surprise!

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The Victorians weren’t the only interesting sights as I made my way to the famous Haight- Ashbury district.

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In the afternoon we took the bus across the city to the old Ferry Building and eventually to Fisherman’s Wharf, and two Peach Mules at a seaside pub as we watched the sailboats gliding into the sunset.

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I think in another life I could live quite happily in one of San Francisco’s Victorian walk-ups, wandering by foot and bus through it’s many colorful landscapes. It would take a lifetime to explore this vast and vibrant city.

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Artists & Writers in Their Studios

02 Thursday Nov 2017

Posted by deborahbrasket in Art, Writing

≈ 33 Comments

Tags

art studios, artists, creative workspaces, creativity, inspiration, lifestyle, painting, quotations, writers, writing

"Calder at Home The Joyous Environment of Alexander Calder" by Pedro Guerreo

Art studio of Alexander Calder

I’ve been collecting images of artist studios and writing spaces as inspiration for creating my own art/writing workspace. Some of these images are of famous artists and writers. It’s been so interesting to match the creative mind with the space that inspires it. Most of the creative spaces that have been most inspiring to me belong to people who are not famous, or at least unknown to me, and perhaps I’ll share those another time.

Here I’ve matched the spaces with famous quotes from the inhabitants. See if you can guess who they are. If you can’t, the names are listed below.

  1. “With age art and life grow together.” 

"With age art and life grow together."  ---George Braque

2. “I do not literally paint that table, but the emotion it produces upon me.”

Matisse, paper cutting. We both love Matisse, especially the cut paper works of his latter days. I actually made two quilts based on those artworks.

3. “My library is an archive of longings.”

40 Inspiring Workspaces Of The Famously Creative

4. “My fan mail is enormous. Everyone is under six.”

Alexander Calder in his studio. I want those rugs!

5. “All sorrows can be borne if you can put them into a story.”

Danish author Karen Blixen (1885-1962) at her desk in Rungstedlund | Lindequist

6. “I think of my studio as a vegetable garden, where things follow their natural course. They grow, they ripen. You have to graft. You have to water.”

Joan Miró, Son Abrines, 1978, Photo Jean Marie del Moral

7. “I believe in deeply ordered chaos.”

Francis Bacon in his Studio 1977

8. “What you do when you paint, you take a brush full of paint, get paint on the picture, and you have faith.”

Willem de Kooning by Thomas Hoepker

9. “You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.”

Jack London famous author desk, famous writing desks, writers at work, photos of writers

10. “Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?”

E eu que era tudo ou nada ao meio-dia: FRIDA KAHLO - VIVA LA VIDA

11. “Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed?”

writer hc-annie-dillard-born-april-30-1945-20130225 Getty Images July 1987

12. “In the arts, as in life, everything is possible provided it is based on love.”

Marc Chagall in his studio, 1955. Photo by Mark Shaw

Artists and writers: 1-George Braque, 2-Henri Matisse, 3-Susan Sontag, 4-Alexander Calder, 5-Karen Blixen, 6-Joan Miro, 7-Francis Bacon, 8-Willem de Kooning, 9-Jack London, 10-Frida Kahlo, 11-Annie Dillard, 12-Marc Chagall

 

 

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Making Room for all My Loves – Music, Art, Writing

21 Thursday Sep 2017

Posted by deborahbrasket in Art, music, Uncategorized, Writing

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

art, creativity, lifestyle, music, painting, personal, writing

Rene Magritte Georgette At The Piano - Artisoo.com

Piano by Rene Margritte

A year and a half ago I blogged about Learning to Play (Again) and wrote this

I played piano as a girl and always regretted giving it up. Lately the thought that I may never play again, never experience the pure pleasure of music slipping out through my finger tips onto the keys–-to lose that forever– -seemed too sad to bear. So I bought myself an electronic piano, something I could set out on my dining room table to play.

Nothing so romantic as a baby grand–-but it has the touch and feel of the real thing. I can close my eyes and listen and imagine that heavy-breathing instrument bowing beneath my body as I play it.

The music I want to play is the kind that sweeps you away–Chopin, Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven . . . . What I yearn for, and seem to remember, is the kind of playing where body and music meld, where the notes sway through my body and spill out on the keyboard, like some lover I’m caressing. A musical love-making.

Sad to say, I did not play my keyboard as much as I had first thought I would and eventually it was put away to make room for my painting, which I also pursued on the dining room table.

But I regretted not having a permanent place for my keyboard, where I could go whenever I wanted and just sit down and make music. I still longed for a “real” piano, but it seemed, even in this large new home of ours that there just wasn’t a good place for one.

Then this summer my daughter came for a visit and stole back the large antique cabinet that I had been storing for her all these years. I knew she would be taking it now that she had her own home to fill up. But what could fill that empty space in the corner of our foyer, which was so much larger and “grander” than any home we had ever had.

And then I knew.  Why a grand piano, of course! Which is what I had always wanted but never thought I would have.

I discovered that used baby grand are not so very expensive.  And antique baby grands are so inexpensive that some are given away for free. So we found a beautifully cared-for antique on Craigslist and moved it into the corner of our foyer. Now it takes center stage in our home where I pass by numerable times a day. It’s always there, beckoning to me as I pass by, and now I play, not only daily, but several times a day.

But my dining room table is still a mess, covered with tubes of paints, and brushes, and palettes. It’s time to make a permanent home for the newest love in my life, my artwork.

This fall we plan to add an “art studio” to my home office where I do my writing. We’ll build a counter-top across one wall and halfway down the center of the room, to create a T-formation and two work stations.  On one side will be my computer and printer and all my writing paraphernalia, and on the other side will be room for my artwork.

When it’s done I finally will have a permanent place to play with all the loves in my life. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to do that, to even discover what all your loves will be, let alone make room for them. My only problem then will be finding time each day to enjoy them.

How do you make room and time for all your creative endeavors?

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My new piano

 

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Painting, a New Passion

05 Monday Dec 2016

Posted by deborahbrasket in Art, Writing

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

art, creaitvity, hobbies, inspiration, lifestyle, painting, passion, Visual Arts, watercolor, writing

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Detail from painting by Van Gogh

Writing has always been the primary passion in my life, the thing I love most to do and identify with. I began blogging as a way to share my writing and the things I’m inspired to write about. Art has been one of those inspirations, particularly the paintings I fall in love with.

In one post I compared writing with painting: “Images and ideas are the paint, words the loaded brush, and sentences our brushstrokes. The mind and imagination of both writer and reader is the blank canvas.”

Writers paint portraits of our characters in the minds of readers and place them in dramatic scenes.  We use lighting and color to evoke mood and atmosphere, and prop “still lifes” about them, revealing tiny details that suggest associations and symbols and themes.

The idea of painting has always intrigued me and I longed to try my hand at it one day. That desire became particularly loud when I was sick to death of words. Yes, even writers weary of words. Then the idea of painting, working with pure pigment and brush strokes on a blank page instead of words, words, words–so fraught with meaning–seemed utterly refreshing.

Writing with no words–that’s what my soul sought.

Watercolor drew my interest. I loved the lightness, the fluidity, the transparency of the medium. But when I was finally ready to paint, the only class I could find was in pastel. So I began playing with pastel about a year ago. While a few paintings were successful and deemed wall-worthy, more often I felt frustrated by my efforts.

Finally a class in watercolor opened up and I feel now I’ve found my medium. Nearly everything I’ve painted so far gives me pleasure. Finally my walls are beginning to feel the presence of my new passion.

I’ve found with painting the kind of satisfaction I’ve rarely found in writing. I always wanted my writing to find a place in the world. I wrote for myself, but also for something beyond me. I wanted my writing wedded to a world apart. Few pieces have found that bliss, and even those that have I still view with misgivings as I wrote about in one post.

But painting doesn’t feel that way. It’s a child that never has to find a place outside my own home. I paint for the pleasure of the process, and also the pleasure I feel from the finished product. It’s something I can enjoy that needs no outward approval.

Much of my writing remains an unwedded bride, an unsung song, a bright promise languishing in a dark corner.

But my painting is a child who needs no one but me to love and enjoy her to feel fulfilled.

It’s a rare blessing.

 

 

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Pushing Through the Fear and Self-Doubt

20 Thursday Feb 2014

Posted by deborahbrasket in Family

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

adventure, inspiration, lifestyle, overcoming fear, self-doubt, skydiving

KelliExitPlane-672x372A new blogger wrote the following post, which I love.  I hope you will support her efforts by clicking on the link below and going to her site where you can read and comment. And follow!  One of the exciting things about blogging is discovering interesting new sites and helping them get off to a great start.  Some of you may recognize the blogger from a few of my posts. 

Pushing Through the Fear and Self-Doubt

I’ve learned something about myself over the years.  I push myself. I throw myself over the edge into dark unknown waters. And I thrive on it . . . .

Read the rest at WaterSaltSky

http://watersaltsky.com/2014/02/17/pushing-through-fear-and-self-doubt/

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Sailing with Kids into the Unknown, Continuation of Sea Saga, Part VI

03 Wednesday Jul 2013

Posted by deborahbrasket in Life At Sea, Memoir, Sailing, Sea Saga

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

adventure, Baja, children, Cruising (maritime), Formosa 46, lifestyle, memoir, Mexico, sailing, Sailing Around the World

Baja12This post is a continuation of the article I wrote about long-distance sailing with children that I wrote long ago as we embarked upon what would be a 6 ½ year voyage around the world. Read Part I, HERE.

Cruising with Kids, Dream or Nightmare?  Part Two

So amid tears and protests, we moved aboard “La Gitana” where she lay patiently at her slip in Ventura, California. There Dale and I gave up the roomy aft cabin to the children with their collections of stuffed animals, Barbie dolls and Star War Empires. Then we settled back to await the inevitable bouts of tears and sulkiness that must accompany this new adjustment period in our lives.

Chris5But it never happened. Chris was too busy learning to sail our dinghy, while Kelli was totally enchanted with her new, tiny inflatable and happily rowing off backwards to visit new-found friends living at the marina.

Soon surfing and boogie boarding became the favored past-time, and the children were heaving boards to heads and going off to explore the waves together.

Ventura Marina2By the time January and our much delayed departure date rolled around, the children had made new lives and new friends for themselves at the marina. But there were no tears at departing this time–they were as ready to head out as we were.

Baja15Already they had learned that they could adapt to a new environment and make their own places in it, wherever that place might be.This easy acceptance of and adjustment to the cruising life continued. We spent two delightful weeks at Catalina Island before heading further south.

Even in that short time, the children’s sense of independence and self-reliance increased as they rowed themselves ashore each day to explore the little town of Avalon by themselves or took their places at the fishing dock among all the old-timers there.

Kids in boats3Chris became so adept at working the oars of our ten-foot dingy that he became the family’s official rower. Whenever the four of us went to shore together, it was his strong back and broad smile that transported us there.

I’ll never forget one twilit evening when Kelli offered to row the trash ashore, and, despite my doubts, Dale said she could handle it. I watched, trans-fixed, as my little eight-year-old daughter heft the large bag into our ten-foot dingy, untied the painter and shoved off, manning the heavy wooden oars that I myself had trouble with. She rowed, not backwards this time, but like a good seaman with her back to the future as the gathering twilight slowly hid her from view. Kelli won more than a bit of independence that day–she won respect and admiration, for she rowed a straighter course than I could.angel fish2

By the time we reached Cabo San Lucas and rounded the tip of Baja into the Sea of Cortez, we had discovered that many of the more trivial concerns that, nonetheless, loomed so large in our minds had disappeared. Now it’s hard to imagine why we once thought that lack of privacy or cramped quarters would become a problem.

Formosa 46 below decksOur forty-six foot Formosa with its large center cockpit and forward and aft cabins has provided us with all the privacy and living space that we seem to need. We live as peaceably here as we did in our house and perhaps more so. Not only are our cramped quarters not a problem, but they have often proved a blessing.

Now when the children bring the Legos out to the salon table to build spaceships, Dale or I are often drawn into the creative enterprise. And it is easy to supervise school lessons from the galley while in the midst of kneading sourdough or canning chicken. Then, when we do need that time to “be by ourselves,” we’ve found that cooperation rather than space is the prime factor. And cooperation is readily available. Why we once thought otherwise seems a mystery now.

Baja11The simple luxuries of a daily shower, a washing machine and TV are no longer missed. While the privacy of a good, hot shower is still a luxury that we would readily welcome, we’ve found that it’s only just that–a luxury, not a necessity. Its absence does not affect the quality of life or well-being in the least.

Fresh water sponge baths and sea-bucket showers are enough to keep us feeling as fresh and clean as the humidity permits. Then, when we are in a port where fresh water is plentiful, nothing compares with a fresh-water sun shower during the heat of day or within the warm caress of a starry night.

I’ve discovered that washing laundry in buckets of salt water and rinsing them in fresh keeps our clothes as clean and soft as they need to be. It is not the drudgery that I had anticipated. At the house, doing laundry for me was always a rather tedious task performed alone in the semi-gloom of our garage. Now I do the laundry in a bikini on the bow of the boat with the brilliant sunshine and wind refreshing my spirits while panoramic views of busy harbors or lovely anchorages enchant my mind. And never am I a lone. There is always Chris to haul up buckets of water for me, Dale to help rinse and wring, and Kelli to hang the clothes on the life lines.

Baja10The absence of TV has been one of our greatest blessings. It opened the fascinating world of books to our children who, until we began cruising, seldom read. We were only a week into our cruise when Chris, quickly drying the last of the dishes so I could begin our nightly reading session of The Hobbit, exclaimed, “This beats watching TV any day!” And this from a boy who had suffered the cruelest deprivation of his life only months before when we cut the cable to MTV.

Since we’ve been cruising, I’ve ceased to worry about depriving the children of their involvement in organized sports and clubs. We’ve found that this life at sea provides ample opportunities for developing skills, independence and self-reliance that more than compensate for that lack. These cruising activities seem to be more holistic in scope, as well, encompassing many aspects of a single theme.

Baja1Fishing, for example, has become a favored past-time for the children, but this passion involves far more than casting a line into the sea. Each child catches and salts down his own bait, rigs and cares for his own poles, then cleans and fillets his own catch. They both spend many enjoyable hours making lures out of feathers, bits of colored string, and other odds and ends.

ChrisChris, especially, actively seeks out and devours any articles or books on the sport of fishing that he can find, and he spends hours pouring through our charts and cruising guides, looking for the best fishing and diving spots.

Our fish identification book has been worn to tatters by constant perusal. Now, when I am puzzled by the identity of an unfamiliar fish, I have only to describe it to the kids to find my answer. Even the children’s artwork nowadays includes many finely detailed and colored drawings of the fish they admire.

Baja2In cruising, we’ve found that many of the skills that the children learn provide as much practical use as they do play, Rowing, sailing, and working the out¬board motor are not only fun but are the children’s main means of transportation to and from shore. Swimming, snorkeling, and diving provide excellent recreation as well as dinner.

Chris has become quite proficient at hunting and spearing fish and lobster, often free-diving to thirty feet to stalk a grouper or free an anchor. Kelli’s snorkeling and diving produces clams and scallops for supper, as well as a myriad of pretty shells for creating jewelry.

A cruising life does provide less opportunity for the children to play with their own peers, but even this lack does have its compensations. The children have been forced to seek companionship in unexpected places, including each other. Their many expeditions to shore to explore the beaches and towns together has fostered a growing sense of responsibility, cooperation, protectiveness and con¬sideration between the two. It is often commented on how close they seem to be–comments rarely merited in the highly separate lives they led ashore.

Chris and Kelli dressed upIn addition, both children have become quite adept at striking up friendships with many of the adults they meet. These adults have included not only other cruisers or vacationing Americans, but many of the local Mexicans as well. Some of these friendships have become very special .and lasting, while others have led to some unique experiences.

The children’s increasing command of Spanish has allowed them to become friends with some of the Mexican shopkeepers and fishermen and their children. In the process, the children have waited on tables, made signs in English, and helped out their friends in other small ways, as well as enjoyed several tours of local commercial fishing boats. One special friendship with a young American couple working down here led Chris to work and pay for his own diving instructions, allowing him to become a certified scuba diver at the age of twelve.

Baja9When the children do happen to come into contact with other cruising children, these friendships tend to be swift and deep, bonded as they are by their shared, unique experiences. They are learning that friendships need not be limited to one’s own peer group or even to one’s own nationality but are to be nurtured and savored wherever they are found.

One of the very special aspects of cruising has been the increased opportunities it provides for children and parents to play together. The few bouts with boredom aboard our boat have only led to the discovery and sometimes rediscovery of enjoyable pursuits. I’ve discovered the joys of sewing, an activity I had formerly shunned, when Kelli and I began to design and hand-sew doll’s clothes. Dale, after a lifetime of avoiding most board games and cards of any sort, now enthusiastically plays both with his family. The children’s love of drawing has caused me to rediscover my own love for it and Dale to discover it for the first time. Most notable, I believe, is the rediscovery of the child within the adult, as Dale and I find an increasing sense of whimsy and nonsense pervading “La Gitana.”

Baja5It is not only the play and pleasures, however, that are shared aboard a cruising boat, but the work, the responsibilities, and the learning as well. Aboard “La Gitana,” all the water and fuel hauling, the grocery shopping, the laundering and cooking, mending and sewing, and the bottom cleaning are joint activities, shared by all to some degree. Chris and Kelli are a great help when it comes to sailing the boat. They handle much of the foredeck work as well as much of the anchoring now.

School, however, is our most challenging responsibility. I have been very pleased with the quality and content of the Calvert correspondence lessons, but it has taken some time for all of us to adjust to the children-as-pupils and mother-as-teacher relationship. Having taught school a bit in the past, I had no qualms about teaching my own children. However, I have since discovered that there is an emotional bond, or perhaps tension, between mothers and their children that does not exist in the normal classroom and does not facilitate the learning process.

It seems to make the goofing off and the squabbling, the stricter expectations and shorter tempers all the more prevalent. The children somehow feel much freer to criticize their own mother’s teaching standards and techniques than they ever did their former teachers. I, in turn, find my own children’s sloppy work habits and inattentiveness much more exasperating than I did with my former students. Even normal shipboard activities seem to confound our best efforts as Dale tears apart the salon looking for some tool while working on one of his own projects, or friendly neighbors row by for a chat. Underway there is always a herd of dolphin, a caught fish or a call to tack to upset our lessons. And yet, I keep reminding myself, isn’t this what we imagined maritime cruising to be all about–pitting ourselves against the unknown challenges in the world, in each other, and in ourselves, grappling with it and coming out the better?

Baja4And so, we’ve grappled with our schooling these past two years, and, in fact, have seemed to come out the better for it. School is now a much more orderly process. The disruptions still occur, but we’re learning when to be firm and when to be flexible. The children are learning to accept my higher standards, and I am learning to handle the highs and lows of teaching them with more equilibrium.

The satisfaction of personally supervising their studies and watching each child struggle with and acquire new skills and concepts now outweighs the moments of temper and frustration. Dale and I feel, more than ever, that the children are receiving a better, more comprehensive, more individualized education than they ever would have received ashore. And, in the process, our own basic education is getting a thorough review. It’s a learning experience shared by all.

BajaWe have been cruising aboard “La Gitana” for over two years now, and not one of us would trade this life for our life ashore. Not all of it has been pleasant. I haven’t mentioned the time our drinking water turned a gunky brown and all of us were sick flat on our backs for a week, or the time I heard a bump in the night and looked out the porthole to see a huge shrimper looming over our bow, or the time I set the kids’ bunk cushions ablaze while trying to dry them with the portable heater.

Then there was the time I dropped the thermometer and the mercury rolled into the 45 gallon water tank that Dale had just cleaned and refilled, and the time our kitten swallowed some bait attached to a fish-hook, and in her excitement jumped overboard and had to be reeled in on the pole. And there have been other times like these, including the common drudgery of hauling water, cleaning fuel tanks and scraping the boat’s bottom. But what life is without these “times”?

Baja14To me, one of the magical things about cruising is this meshing of the ordinary with the extraordinary, the dreadful with the delightful. This life, we’ve discovered, is not an extended vacation, an action-packed adventure, nor an escape from reality.

It’s neither dream nor nightmare but simply a way of life—of living from day to day—that we find very satisfying. All of the doubts that plagued me before our cruise began have now been thoroughly tested and dispelled–at least for the time being. I’ve learned that this cruising life can be all the things that we dreamed it to be, and more, and sometimes less. In fact, it’s a wonderful life; but this one, like any other, has its great unknown–and that’s the magic of it.

MORE POSTS ON OUR SEA SAGA

Sea Saga, Part I – Catching the Dream

Sea Saga, Part II – Honeymoon Sail Bailing Water

Sea Saga, Part III – First Stop in Paradise, the Virgin Islands

Sea Saga, Part IV – Ex-pats and Pirates in the Bay Islands of Honduras

Sea Saga, Part V – La Gitana, Our Larger Self

Sea Saga, Part VI – Cruising with Kids, Dream or Nightmare? (Part One)

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La Gitana, Our Larger Self – Sea Saga, Part V

30 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by deborahbrasket in Creative Nonfiction, Life At Sea, Memoir, Sailing, Sea Saga

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

adventure, Boat, circumnavigation, Dreams Come True, Gypsy, La Gitana, lifestyle, live-aboard, Sail, sailboat, sailing, Sailing Around the World, traveling, Yacht

La Gitana in MooreaWe named her “La Gitana,” Spanish for the gypsy, partly in tribute to our family’s Spanish heritage, partly because sea gypsies are what we would be once we moved aboard her and sailed away, partly for my long fascination with everything pertaining to Gypsies.

I loved the music, the dancing, the clothing, the jewelry, the colorful furnishings of the caravans. I loved what they stood for, the capriciousness of their existence living on the edge of society, their adventuresome spirit, their playfulness and spontaneity, their wildness—all the things we grew up thinking of as gypsy-like. La Gitana symbolized all of that for us. We feminized the masculine gitano and added the lyrical signifier “la” for alliteration, and to show her singular importance. The, not a.

La Gitana Moorea2Of course she had to be feminine—all ships traditionally are. They are vessels that serve us, that carry us in her belly, under her wings. Her sails are softly rounded breasts bravely and proudly pulling us onward. And she was alive! So lively with a personality and purpose all her own—a creature, not a thing.

She seemed almost as alive to us as the other creatures that she cavorted with, the dolphins that played at her side, the whales that swam beneath and circled her, the flying fish that landed on her decks. Her spirit was all her own. But her breath, her pulse, her beating heart, her life blood, was us, the people who inhabited and cared for her, plotted her course, walked her decks, stroked her beams, and dreamed her dreams.

La Gitana Moorea3It was a symbiotic relationship. We trusted her and sank everything we had into her. And she depended upon us to steer her away from the harbor and allow her to run with the wind, to lead her to a safe haven and hunker her down when the hurricane blew.
formosa_46_drawingOriginally she was called “Swagman,” which is what peddlers and tinkers are called Down Under. We bought her from an Aussie living in San Diego who had commissioned her to be built in Taiwan—a Formosa 46, a 46-foot Peterson designed cutter rigged sloop with a center-cockpit. Cousin to the better known and more costly Peterson 44.

We had invested so much more than money in her—our hopes and dreams, our safety and security, our hearth and home, our larger selves. She is what separated us from the sea on those long ocean voyages and moved us through the air by harnessing the wind. Deep in her belly she rocked and sung us to sleep. When the storms rose she sheltered us from the rain. When huge rogue waves came crashing down she lifted us up. When the wind died away and left us floundering in the middle of nowhere, she was the still center in a circle of blue.

La Gitana5I cannot tell you the pleasure and affection I felt when we were ashore and looked out at her waiting patiently for our return. What it felt like to bring our dinghy aside her and hoist our provisions aboard. The thrill of weighing anchor and heading out to sea, raising her sails, watching them fill.

La Gitana croppedHunkered beneath her dodger during night watches, I listened to the rush of waves and sails in the black, black night, and watched her mast stirring stars. Sleeping below deck as she rocked with the waves, her rigging humming overhead, the soft gurgle of the ocean whispering through the hull, was sweetness like no other.

Isle du Pins cropped6I loved sunning my chilled skin on her warm teak decks after a long morning hunting and diving for scallops. Falling asleep in the cockpit on balmy days in port, watching the stars gently rock overhead as she rolled with the soft swells.

How I miss her! But we carry her in our hearts and in our memories, in the words on these pages, and the novels I am writing. I like to think another family has taken over where we left off, hugging her close, and steering her on new adventures.

La Gitana—my larger self.

MORE POSTS ON OUR SEA SAGA

Sea Saga, Part I – Catching the Dream

Sea Saga, Part II – Honeymoon Sail Bailing Water

Sea Saga, Part III – First Stop in Paradise, the Virgin Islands

Sea Saga, Part IV – Ex-pats and Pirates in the Bay Islands of Honduras

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Sea Saga, Part III – First Stop in Paradise, the Virgin Islands

26 Sunday Aug 2012

Posted by deborahbrasket in Landfalls, Life At Sea, Nature, Sailing, Sea Saga, Snorkeling, Swimming, Water, Wild Life

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

adventure, bareboat chartering, beauty, Dreams Come True, lifestyle, Nature, sailing, snorkeling, Virgin Islands

“This is where it all begins,” Dale whispers to me we take off, rising through layers of clouds thick as fog. “This is where we leave the beaten path forever.”

We are leaving Puerto Rico International airport aboard a tiny six-passenger airplane bound for the British Virgin Islands and nine days aboard a bare-boat chartered cruise. This was to be our first step in testing the waters of living about a cruising yacht before deciding to consummate our long-delayed dream of sailing around the world.

“Start slow–and taper off” is the motto for island living we’re told by the manager of the West Indies Yacht Charters at Maya Cove as he greets us and our good friends Steve and Kathy with rum punches when we arrive.

We whole-heartedly comply as we sail away the next day on our O’Day 37 and anchor off lonely Norman Island, which is said to be the inspiration for Robert Luis Stevenson’s Treasure Island.

Somehow I’m reminded more of something written by Jules Verne as we set off early the next morning in the dingy to explore the caves hidden in nearby cliffs.

There’s an eerie beauty that clings to the island as we slip though long, cool shadows cast by the dark cliffs rising steeply from the water. Above us large sharp-winged albatross circle the pale sky and screech like ancient, flying reptiles once might have done. While in the seas below, I can almost feel the whirlpool that could soon be sucking us down to some prehistoric paradise beneath the ocean. We pull the dingy onto a small, rocky beach where two angry gulls swoop down from the cliffs, diving noisily at us. Soon we are snorkeling toward the caves, finding that the watered world below holds all the primeval beauty and excitement we anticipated.

We tack across the channel toward Virgin Gorda the next morning, where we stop briefly at “The Baths” and climb among the giant-sized boulders strewn along the beach.

Later we press on toward Spanish Town, where we wander down a narrow, squall-puddled lane amid wild orchids and flaming Jacaranda trees to find Fischer’s Cove Restaurant. There we dine on spicy-sweet pumpkin soup and the most succulent lobster that any of us can remember tasting.

The next day we sail into Gorda Sound and spend a quiet evening at Robin’s Bay, cleaning and cooking the tuna that Kathy caught on the way. In the morning we head to Mosquito Island and anchor off the reefs where we go snorkeling.

We circle past beds of plump brain coral and wander through the lavender gardens of lacy fan coral where fat butter-and-black striped fish seem to hover like bees. Swimming past the rocky point, the sea becomes so deep that we seem to be tottering on the brink of some dark, fathomless cavern. We dive down into these cooler waters and are suddenly swallowed by thousands of tiny silvery-quick fish. Always, lying just at the edge of our vision, wait the pug-jawed barracuda, like wary watch-dogs. We surface on the far side of the island and sun ourselves in a quiet, sandy cove before hiking back across the island through an intricate maze of sea-grape, palms and cacti, then swimming out to our boat.

That night we anchor at the Bitter End Marina, an appropriate name it seems. Sleeping under the stars on the deck, looking out between Saba Rock and Virgin Gorda, it seems we’re perched on the very edge of the Caribbean with all the Atlantic and the dark shores of Africa hidden in the night before us, blowing its hot jungle-scented breath across an ocean to touch us where we lay. From a nearby boat, men are singing a low, rowdy drinking song, floating across the water like remnants torn from a colorful, pirate-ridden past. Even the stars seem half-submerged in a night swollen with dreams. It’s our first night of no-rain, and we lie there in our pool of moonlight, talking quietly and sinking slowly into sleep.

The next morning as we head back toward Tortola the rain that avoided us the night before is close on our heels and Steve and I are busy snapping shots of the dark, but lovely on-coming squall. Too soon it’s upon us and I barely have time to put the camera away before we are heeled over, topsides awash. Kathy is furiously reeling in her fishing line, her bikini top blown down about her waist, while she slides helplessly over the side. I just manage to grab hold of her before she’s washed away, when Steve calls for her to run and get the soap so he can take advantage of this tropical shower. Within fifteen minutes the squall has passed and I have my camera out again. This time I make the crew line up and pose, asking them to look as much as possible like drowned rats. Steve, especially, seems well suited for the task.

The northern shores of Tortola are exceptionally lush and inviting with several deserted coves becoming our own private play grounds.

Here the water seems spilt from a paint box—deepest indigo flowing into turquoise, and then rinsing out to a pale sapphire on the soft, white sand—while behind rise groves of palms and steep, forested mountains.

Cane Garden Bay is but a wider, populated version of this.

We lay at anchor in her large generous mouth with run drinks in hand, a kind of easy languor settling over us as our senses become well sated. On shore we measure the progress of an old man on a donkey riding out of the steep hills, disappearing in the foliage, and crossing a stone bridge.

Nearby a boat plays at spinnaker-riding. We watch as the wind catches the brightly colored sail, lifting it high about the mast like a giant kite, while swinging on a line drawn between the clues, a young woman squeals with delight.

Toward evening, colors grow mute and sound emerges—faint tinkles, soft drumming, a syncopated beat. The two sleepy beach bars are finally stirring and soon a battle of the steel drum bands is in full swing. The hypnotic, calypso music is wafted through the balmy night, across starlit water, luring wayward sailors ashore. In time, we too succumb.

We make our last anchorage at Little Harbor on Peter Island. Kathy and Steve catch a red snapper and king fish on the reefs that we barbecue for supper. The moon rises plump and round over the mountain, dancing briefly with roguish clouds before another squall blows in. We sit below the Bimini in a womb of water, none of us wanting to go below and put the night to sleep. When we do it is one by one, each along, like candles that burn out slowly and separately in the night.

It is a rare occurrence, these last nine days in the British Virgin Islands—a trip that surpasses even our inflated fantasies of it. The best part is the naturalness of it all: the rising to a shared breakfast beneath the early morning sky, the daily scrubbing of decks, dishes and laundry, then festooning the life-lines with drying clothes; the fascination of snorkeling and sensuousness of sailing, when the sun and rhythmic seas soothe the soul even while vigorous winds and drifting vistas stimulate the mind.

There’s the feeling that this is life at its most eloquent and elemental form—a life worth pursuing. We leave the islands with one conviction firmly in mind: It’s time for our dream of sailing around the world to begin ripening into reality.

But before we do, we take one more bareboat charter into the tropics—this time to the Bay Islands of Honduras with Dale’s father.

[Stay tuned for Part IV of our Sea Saga—The Bay Islands of Honduras]

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Sea Saga, Part II – Honeymoon Sail Bailing Water

16 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by deborahbrasket in Life At Sea, Sailing, Sea Saga

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

adventure, Dreams Come True, lifestyle, sailing, Sailing Around the World

[Click Here for Part I – Catching the Dream]

We married on the fly. I had no wedding gown, no ring, no cake. No one thought to bring a camera. Our parents were given an hour’s notice to meet us at the altar. I’m still amazed the minister agreed to tie the knot on such late notice. We were married standing beneath a giant heart covered in roses in a chapel decorated for another couple’s wedding.

We drove off to Santa Barbara later that afternoon to spend our wedding night with our best friends, Steve and Kathy. They graciously gave up their bed to us, a mattress on their bedroom floor, and slept on the couch that night.

The next morning we rented a 10-foot sailing dingy and headed off toward the oil rigs in the channel, even though storm warning flags were flying. No one knew how to sail, but how hard could it be?

We made it half way to the oil rigs before the steadily building waves started swamping the boat. Kathy and I frantically bailed water with our straw sun hats while the guys managed to get the outboard engine started and the boat turned around. We finally made it to shore, wet and cold with ruined hats, but undaunted by the adventure.

That afternoon we headed south to find an apartment while Dale looked for work. Meanwhile I enrolled myself in the local high school. Although I had already turned 18, I was still two months shy of a diploma when we eloped. I lasted about a week at the new school, and then enrolled myself in a community college. By the time I finally took the courses needed to get my long-delayed High School diploma, I’d already earned a BA in English.

A retired Port Captain at Long Beach Harbor eventually taught us to sail.

Not long afterward we moved back to the Central Coast where we bought a small sloop that we launched and sailed at Lake Lopez, Morro Bay, and Santa Barbara.

Our next boat was a Columbia 26 named Dulcinea. 

We kept her at a slip in Santa Barbara, spending long sunny weekends aboard with the kids and cruising along the coast and to the Channel Islands.

Even so, it wasn’t until we took a bareboat charter in the Virgin Islands and later the same year to the Bay Islands off Honduras that we knew for sure we could do this—live this way fulltime, sailing from one island to another . . . forever.

Our dream of sailing around the world was reborn.

Stay tuned for Part III of our Sailing Saga: Chartering in the Caribbean

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Living on the Edge of the Wild

12 Thursday Jul 2012

Posted by deborahbrasket in Life At Sea, Nature

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

adventure, exploring, lifestyle, Nature, sailing, wild, writing

I created this blog to explore what it means to be living on the edge of the wild.

We all are, in some way, living on the edge of the wild, either literally or figuratively, whether we know it or not.  We all are standing at the edge of some great unknown, exploring what it means to be human in a more-than-human universe.

We encounter the “wild” not only in the natural world, but in ourselves and our daily lives, if only in our own strange dreams, our own unruly minds and rebellious bodies, our own inscrutable families and weird and wonderful pets.

We encounter the “wild” at the edges of science, the arts, and human consciousness.

I began my exploration into the wild quite literally, when our family was living aboard La Gitana and traveling around the world for six years. It became starkly apparent when I was sailing across the Pacific Ocean, surrounded by nothing but the sky above and the sea below, that I was living on the edge of something primitive and uninhibited, vulnerable to potentially terrifying forces that could rip us apart or swallow us whole. And yet those very same forces are what filled our sails and moved us forward, and what cradled us below, harboring in those depths the creatures that astounded us with their beauty and power.

I came to appreciate in the most intimate way how tiny and insignificant we humans appear in the natural world that surrounds and supports us.  We are indeed living on the edge of the wild, the largely untamed and unknown world into which we are born, exploring the borderlands that lay between the human and the more-than-human worlds, and the ways they overlap and mirror each other.

Now that I am again living on the edge of the wild in a home bordering a nature preserve, I find myself re-exploring those borderlands:

  • Not only through my encounters with the wildlife and natural habitat that now surrounds me, but also through reflecting upon those years living at sea.
  • Through my writing, plunging below conscious thought into that unruly wildness that harbors all manner of terrifying and astounding creatures to capture on paper.
  • Through the books I read exploring the edges of science and the human condition, pushing the envelope on all manner of frontiers.

What’s really interesting is how often those explorations into the wild begin with seemingly mundane observations, ordinary sights and sounds, that caught in the right light, reveal something extraordinary.

This blog was created to explore those borderlands with others.  I hope you will share your thoughts with me on these and other topics.

  • In what ways do you live on the edge of the wild?
  • What borderlands are you exploring?
  • What envelopes do you think need pushing?

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This blog explores what it means to be living on the edge of the wild as a writer and an artist.

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After sailing around the world in a small boat for six years, I came to appreciate how tiny and insignificant we humans appear in our natural and untamed surroundings, living always on the edge of the wild, into which we are embedded even while being that thing which sets us apart. Now living again on the edge of the wild in a home that borders a nature preserve, I am re-exploring what it means to be human in a more than human world.

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